Mystery
by Nairobi-Harper
Summary: Z isn't a Goth, a popular kid, or a geek. He's just Z.


**Mystery**

 **Chapter One**

High school. Girlfriends, boyfriends, love. That's not all that you get in high school, though.

You also have those groups where everyone has been classified, like animals. I _hate_ it. I hate how the ones who will not be successful later in life are popular. It's stupid.

Most of all, I hate how everyone tries to decide what I am, _who_ I am. I think the popular chicks spend too much time trying to put me in a group as a nerd, popular kid, Goth, emo, or something retarded like that. It's none of their business who I am.

All that they have to know is that I'm Z. They don't need to know my real name or my surname. They just need to know what to call me. _Z_.

Everyone says that I'm a mystery. Moreover, I guess that's true, since no one can figure me out. Some people have spent years of their time trying to figure me out. Others just look at me and assume I'm that messed up Goth who has daddy issues or something. None of that is true.

Truly, I don't think anyone will ever figure out who I am. They'll just go on thinking that I'm a Goth.

That's what annoys me the most.

I mean, I'm not really even a Goth. I'm not depressed and I'm not a freak, I'm just different. I know you probably hear that from someone every day, but in my case, it's true.

Who cares if I dye my hair green? I've been dying my hair since I was six, and now I've just gotten so used to it that I don't try a different color. And it just fits me. I would look weird with brown hair.

Why does it matter how I dress? Boots make me feel comfortable. I don't come from a family with much money, so I just wear whatever I can find in the closet. But _noo_ , that makes me _weird_. A freak. Eccentric.

Then there's "that ugly _piercing_ " as Samantha Shane describes it. Yes, I have an ear piercing. Yes, I'll admit that it must have looked weird since I was in middle school. But hear me out. I got the piercing when I was eight. It happened on accident. No, really, it's true.

Back when I was eight, I had shaggy hair. It at least reached my shoulders. Despite the green hair, most people assumed that I was just a tomboyish girl, especially since my voice was much higher when I was eight. The woman giving out piercings mistook me for her five o' clock appointment, and pierced my left ear. I ran off before she could do the other one.

After that, I started getting haircuts that would make you know that I was not a girl. No one thinks I'm a chick anymore. Thank God!

Most people think that without my muscles, I would be ugly. I don't believe that. Truth is that no one is ugly. Somewhere, you must have a hint of beauty.

When I told my girlfriend, Kimi, that, she said, "That is deep, Z." I love Kimi. You probably won't believe me since I've only known her for three years, but trust me when I say this, I love her. Kimi understands me. She's never asked if Z stands for anything. It actually does, but I don't like telling people what it stands for.

Kimi doesn't see my poetry as depressing; she thinks it's beautiful or 'deep.' I feel like Kimi's my soulmate. I would like to marry her someday. Her brother, Chuckie, probably wouldn't agree. Even though we're on "good terms," I know he still doesn't like me. I know he tells Kimi every day to break up with me. I just _know_.

I nicknamed Kimi 'Boot Girl' when I first met her. Coincidentally, that day, she was wearing boots just like I do. It made me feel better about myself because I thought I was the only person who wore boots in spring. Now I even call her 'Boot Girl' when she isn't wearing boots.

Boot Girl is my only true friend. People can pretend to be my friend; they can pretend to like me. I, however, can see it in their eyes when they don't like me. I know that Boot Girl likes me. When we met she was smiling, and it wasn't one of those pity smiles. You know, those fake smiles that you give people just to be polite. It was a real smile, and I liked that. I like her smile.

To sum it all up, hi, I'm Z. Nice to meet you. I'm sixteen-years old, and I am a true mystery.


End file.
